


Theoretica

by sinnerman



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>only implied romances so far</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tangent

Clint could tell by the way he inhaled that Steve was about to say something, and looked up.

“It’s like, no one cares about it anymore,” Steve said slowly.

Clint looked up from the bow he was restringing so that he could focus on talking to Steve.  “Cares about what?”

Steve blushed.  “Gimme a sec, this is weird to me.”  He took a quick breath.  “Sex,” grinned Steve, still slightly blushing but too honest not to answer Clint’s question.

Steve Rogers had a killer smile, the kind that could light up a room, or make curves out of straight things.

Clint looked down at the table again.  It was covered in weapons.  Mostly his arrows.  Some guns.  It was good enough to distract him from Steve’s sudden and radical change of topic.  Clint looked up again.  “What do you mean?  We care about it a lot,” Clint smiled back, no trace of any nervousness in his face.  “Probably a little too much.”

“Not the normal kind,” Steve laughed.  “The weird stuff.  I remember, when I was a kid, anything out of the ordinary - just didn’t happen.  You didn’t have,” he paused to pull out his phone and check something, “things like, ‘Man Crush Monday,’ or stuff like that.  Where I came from, you shoved it all into a closet and no one ever dreamed of saying words like ‘bisexual.’  Now they’re up to ‘pansexual,’ which has nothing to do with cooking.  Well.  Sort of.”

Clint blinked, then stared at the array of weapons for a second instead of answering.

“Sorry.  Didn’t mean to throw you off or anything.”

That made Clint raise an eyebrow, and look at Steve for confirmation.

Steve laughed again, shyly tucking his phone back into his pocket again.  “Okay, yes, I did.  I just….  You’re so normal.  I figured you would be the right person to check with, you know.  To test that no one has a problem with…um....”

“Steve, are you trying to come out to me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, carry on.”  With a pleased smile, Clint relaxed and went back to fixing the string on his bow.  “Take your time.”

Steve laughed again.  “This is so weird.  You get that, right?  How weird this is to me?  I was brought up to expect any real man would walk out of the room or throw a punch at me for saying stuff like ‘I like guys just as much as I like girls.’  Which is true, by the way.  I like guys just as much as I like girls.  But you don’t really - you’re not bothered, are you?  You’re more worried about losing one of those tiny screws.”

Clint grinned.  “I need those screws to do my job.  It’s not like you’re going to jump over the table and kiss me, are you?”

“Natasha would kill me if I didn’t get permission first.”

There was something about the way Steve said it.  Clint dropped one of the miniscule screws that kept his bowstring in place, and it bounced off the table.  They both moved to catch it, but the Super Soldier was faster, even though Clint was closer, and somehow they ended up with their hands separated by nothing more than a tiny screw.

“Okay, see, I - specifically, I like people I trust and depend on, I just think - something about being friends with someone - real friends - I just find that - not whatever gender they are but the - the whole thing - really attractive.  Sorry.”  Steve blushed again, and dropped the tiny screw into Clint’s waiting palm.

Clint smiled, and curled his fingers over the tiny screw.  “You don’t have to apologize for that.  It won’t always get you what you want, but there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Steve smiled again, a bright and cheerful smile that made Clint wish he had more to offer than kind words.  “That’s - you actually have no idea how much that means to me.  Thanks, Clint.”  Clint nodded quietly as Steve walked out of the room.  “When did I become the universal symbol for trust, anyway?” muttered Clint, then went back to his work.


	2. Meta

The girls at the other table broke into giggles when he looked up, as they realized that he understood their chatter.  One of them drew her scarf more closely around her head and hid her face on the table, barely able to breathe for laughing.  The other, forced to be the polite and mature one, stifled her giggles long enough to mutter some kind of apology, then her curiosity got the better of her.

“You come here every day, and you wait.  What are you waiting for?”

He smiled at her.  It was hard to explain.  He came here because he liked the strangely discordant music and the silly, sappy films that played constantly in this tiny restaurant.  He came here because he liked the food.  It was something of a shock to discover that he didn’t like meat, and the menu here put the non-vegetarians in a different, lower caste, so to speak.  He liked that. He came here because he liked the sweet rosewater and yogurt drink.  That was why he came here.  But to her second question?  He glanced up at the television over the register.  Today’s movie was a colorful adventure of star-crossed lovers, and at the moment, the male lead was climbing up the side of a (fake) mountain to find his true love one more time, so they could break into another song before yet another misfortune occurred.  “I am waiting for my hero to come save me,” he said simply.

His voice was little more than a rasp, from long disuse.  Speaking in the same foreign language that the girl had used made it easier to hide how strange his voice sounded.  Since losing everything, he had focused on trying to stay sane.  Part of that was making a list of things that he liked, and things that he didn’t.  He still wasn’t sure where he stood with the sound of his own voice.  It was odd.  But this dessert made of balls of dough soaked in a sweet syrup was definitely a ‘like.’

The door opened, and the Winter Soldier looked up to see his pursuer enter the restaurant.  And in the second right after that, he realized that he hated calling himself the Winter Soldier now.  He didn’t want or need to be a project or a creation anymore.  He had a name.  Barnes.  Bucky.  And his pursuer wasn’t an enemy, he was Steve.

Or was he?  He felt his brain struggle to deal with the new data, with this sea change of perception.  He stood up before he could stop himself, and started moving towards the exit, away from - Steve.  That man was named Steve.  He was called something else, but his name was Steve.

“Bucky!  Wait!  Please,” pleaded the man.  He was dressed like a civilian.  Jeans, plain jacket, no weapons.  “Please,” said Steve again.  His voice was desperate, his body tense.  Not afraid.  Eager.

“Why?”

The question caught them both off-guard.  For the Winter Soldier - he wasn’t used to hearing his own voice.  Not so calm and conversational.  Not in a place like this.  In a concrete room filled with technology and handlers, maybe.  But not in a tiny little Indian food restaurant near the DC metro.

He could see that Steve was shocked that Bucky had actually responded to him after weeks of chasing and tracking down the elusive former HYDRA agent/prisoner, chases that usually ended in bar brawls and Bucky breaking away at the last second.

The other patrons looked at them curiously.  The clean-cut figure was only barely recognizable as Captain America.  Not really a surprise; the memory of the American populace was remarkably short.  After all, the Cap was some fancy military guy, not someone who would be out on the streets with normal people.  To their eyes, the scruffy dark-haired man in leather and combat boots looked like a recovering drug addict - which he was.  He looked, to their eyes, like someone who needed saving, and that handsome blonde guy with the square jaw and big blue eyes looked like he was ready to do the saving.  A hero - which he was.

“I just want to talk to you.  Please - don’t run off again.  Please.”

Bucky wanted to talk to - this man, this man named Steve.  This man who said he was a friend.  He wanted to - but - he took a step back.  Away.  Out of the range of Steve’s arms.  Steve’s aura.  Just away, that was all he wanted right now.  Away, and alone.

“No!  Bucky!”

Something inside Bucky broke, and ran out of the restaurant.  Away.

Steve ran out after him.  At least Bucky hadn’t attacked this time.  Steve heard cheering behind him, saw two girls from the women in the restaurant clapping in joy, and saw Bucky stumble and look back.  There was something like a smile on his face, in response to the cheering.

“You speak Hindi?” asked Steve in confusion, but Bucky didn’t stop to answer, he just kept running.  Around the corner, down an alleyway.  Steve followed, throwing a quick glance at the area, trying to figure out where he was.  He either didn’t know or wasn't positive that Bucky was leading him down a dead end.  “That was Hindi, right?”

Bucky turned around and stopped.  His back was to a large black metal grating.  He knew he could scale it, and he knew Steve wouldn’t shoot him in the back if he did.  “A little.”

“What? Oh,” Steve stopped, leaving Bucky plenty of room to maneuver.  “You understood what they were saying?”

Bucky nodded.  “Why do you keep finding me?”  Talking was getting easier, with practice.  With Steve.  He wanted to talk to Steve.  Bucky clutched at the metal bars, trying to keep himself focused.  There was no one behind Steve.  No attackers.

“I am trying to help you,” said Steve impatiently, then smiled wearily.  “I’m sorry, it’s just… you’re my friend.  You need help.”

Bucky thought about it.  “I don’t know you.  I don’t rem -”  He stopped suddenly, his mind racing back through all the movies he had watched in the tiny Indian restaurant.  Not the dancing or the music, although he liked those parts.  The hero climbing mountains to get the girl back.  The hero letting himself be beaten for daring to love outside his caste.  Steve was - Steve.  He turned away, trying to figure out what he was or wasn’t remembering.

“No!”  Steve jumped forward, and tackled Bucky before he could get over the grate, pinning him against the wall.

Bucky stood perfectly still.  His mind was at ease now.  He was a captive.  He understood this - he liked this.  It felt safe, secure.

Steve stood perfectly still, trying to figure out why there was no fighting.  “Bucky?”

“Don’t let go, and I’ll follow you.”

Steve blinked.  Was Bucky starting to remember?  Or was he just processing?  Steve decided he didn’t care.  He put one arm around Bucky’s waist, and carefully pulled him away from the alleyway.  “You coming?”

“You should probably keep me tied up,” Bucky observed.

Steve shook his head.  “Let’s go.”

Bucky flinched suddenly, started shaking as if he was cold.  Without any hesitation, Steve swept him up into his arms, carrying Bucky easily, as if the other man weighed no more than a sack of potatoes - but holding him as if he were more precious than a potato sack full of diamonds.

Bucky could feel it starting, the reaction to going without for too long.  HYDRA put a lot of work into ensuring compliance.  He knew it would pass, it always did.  Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulder, listening to the loud, solid rhythm of Steve’s heart.  He couldn’t do anything about whatever his body was doing, he just had to wait it out.  The sound of Steve’s heartbeat was strangely comforting.  Bucky added it to the list of things he liked.

 

When he recovered consciousness, Bucky was lying on the most comfortable bed he had ever slept on.  Steve.  His head was on Steve’s chest, listening to that same heartbeat.  Steve was relaxed, but awake.  Bucky shifted slightly, trying to figure out where he was, exactly, besides lying on top of Steve and very reluctant to move.

“Hey.”  Steve brushed Bucky’s hair out of his eyes, and smiled down at him.  “You’re like a cat, you know that?”

They were lying on a futon mattress on the floor of an otherwise perfectly normal apartment in a loft building somewhere.  Bucky noted the concrete walls and exposed brick, and guessed that it was a repurposed industrial plant.  The blinds over the windows were drawn, and the quiet hum of an air conditioning unit provided a soothing white noise in the background.  Bucky didn’t answer immediately, trying to figure out what had woken him up in the first place.  A strange noise, something he couldn’t place.

“Okay, really, Steve.  What are you two doing?”

Bucky didn’t turn to look at the speaker.  Female.  He vaguely remembered shooting at her some time ago.  He stayed still, pretending to be asleep.

But Steve just laughed.  “Hanging out.  Chilling, I think that’s what Sam calls it.  Being a pillow.”  He put one arm around Bucky, the other tucked behind his head.  “What?”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you, but it never seemed like the right time.”  There was a hint of humor in the woman’s voice.

“Ask me what?”  Steve also sounded amused.  Calm.  His hand was on Bucky’s back now, moving in a slow, careless circular motion.

“How do I put this?  Orientation?  I mean, the first time I tried to kiss you, you freaked out.  Went a lot better better the second time.  And on the third try, well....  So, I ask again, what are you doing?”

Bucky suddenly remembered her name.  Natasha.  Her name was Natasha.  He vividly remembered her body jerking in pain from his bullet.  Bucky wondered if he would get to shoot her again.

“Oh, that.”  Steve laughed, slightly uncomfortable with something, but his hand didn’t stop moving on Bucky’s back.   “You know, I actually tried to look it up, but I still haven’t really found the right word.”

“Bisexual doesn’t cover it?” mocked Natasha.

Steve smiled, a shy and insanely attractive smile.  “I’m only attracted to certain people, not just - parts or whatever.  My friends, specifically.  People I care about.  Want to keep close.”  He looked at her.  “What?”

“You looked like you were going to throw up the first time I kissed you.”

“Remember how you had a mission that involved lying to me and keeping me in the dark?  I find that behavior unsexy, sorry.”

“You’re being a pillow for a man who tried to kill you.”

“Twice.  But he didn’t.”

“I can’t believe I’m coming in second in your affections to an assassin.”

“Where is Clint these days, anyway?” mused Steve.  “Speaking of your affections.”

“Ok, I’ll go.  I’m going.  New batch is in the fridge, do not let it get warm.  And Steve - ”

“Yes, Natasha?”

“That is really cute.  The snuggling.  It’s adorable.  Put that on your Christmas cards this year.”  She blew him a kiss, then walked away with a cheerful laugh.  There was the sound of a heavy door opening and closing, followed by the soft whirr of electronic locks engaging.

Bucky looked up.  Steve had an amused half-smile on his face, and his hand was still doing - that thing that Bucky found so distracting.  He settled down again, for lack of anything better to do, and listened to Steve’s heartbeat some more.

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep,” Steve chided gently.  “She’s a friend.  She doesn’t bite.  Much.  Unless you ask.”  Steve grinned at a random memory, then looked at Bucky to see how the joke had gone over.

Bucky considered various options for answers, then decided to ask the question he really wanted to.  “What is that called?”

“What?”

“What you are doing.  With your hand.  What is it called?”

“Oh.  Um, petting, I guess.  Is it bothering you?” asked Steve nervously.

“No.  I wanted to add it to the list,” Bucky mumbled.  He didn’t feel like explaining very much.  “But I didn’t know what it was called.  She brought medicine.”

“Yes,” said Steve, relieved to find the conversation moving back to a semi-normal area.  “At least one of the preparations they used was from the KGB, and we can deal with that one.  Do you feel better?”

Bucky nodded.  “I am still tired.  My brain is - it feels like my brain is melting.  Like an ice cream cone. I have trouble remembering things, simple things.  Everything.  That’s why I make a list of things I want to remember.”  Even to himself, his voice sounded strained and desperate.

“Bucky.  It’s gonna be okay.  I’m not going to let you go.”  Steve laughed softly, and hugged the man in his arms. "But I'm not tying you up until you really mean it." He blushed suddenly. "Hey, let me get up, I need to get the next dose ready."

Bucky sat up, and smoothly rolled out of Steve's way. He settled himself on his knees, and quietly watched Steve stand up, stretch, move around. Steve was doing things, and Bucky couldn't think of anything right now that could possibly be more interesting than watching Steve.

"Like a cat," Steve said, grinning, as he headed to the kitchen.

Bucky blinked when he realized he couldn't see Steve anymore, then raced into the kitchen after him.

Steve looked around, making sure there was no threat, before he smiled at Bucky. "Easy there.  Why don’t you sit down?" he gestured to the small table. Bucky slid into a chair, never taking his eyes from Steve, and Steve laughed at him for it.  "I feel like I should offer you a bowl of cream or something."

"A collar."

Steve fumbled the small ampule he was holding but recovered in time to keep it from falling.

"Or does that have to wait too?"  Bucky cocked his head, curious to know the answer. Steve's reactions fascinated him. It was like having a conversation where he knew the other person's answer ahead of time, but not his own.  "The idea appeals to you. Or is it a memory?" He guessed. "Is this something I should remember?"

Steve shook his head quickly, and carefully began preparing a syringe.  “I gotta admit, this is terrifying.  I hate doing this,” he confessed.  Steve’s smile was bright, open.

Bucky sat quietly and continued watching Steve work.  “They would punish me if they knew where I was,” he said as soon as Steve was done.  He watched Steve fumble again, and almost drop the needle.  “That upsets you.”

“Of course it does!  I don’t want you hurt.”

Bucky smiled, darkly amused.  “You cracked seven ribs.”

“That was work,” said Steve quickly.  “That doesn’t count.”

Bucky looked down.  His brain was doing strange things again.  “Is this… what remembering feels like?”  He looked at Steve.  “If I never remember properly, will you still want to put a collar on me, one with a little silver bell?”

He didn’t catch Steve off-guard this time, or at least not enough to make him drop the syringe again.  “I know who you are,” said Steve simply.  “I have faith that you will remember who you are.  Or at least, that you will trust me again.”  Steve smiled.  “We’ll consider what to do about the collar when we get there.”


End file.
